"Did you hear what happened?"
"With Warren?"
"Jumped in his cell. He's in the hospital now. Apparently his face is smashed up, he couldn't even walk, had to be carried away in a stretcher."
"Had to have eight stitches from what I heard."
"Holy shit. Did anyone see who did it?"
"No idea. They're waiting for him to wake up and say who it was."
The noise buzzes in Brendan's ears, sounds loud and invasive, feels like he's back in school and the rumour mill is spreading, except instead of who's dating who the topic of conversation is now who made who unconscious.
He feels in a trance, walks back to his cell until he's on his bed again. The coldness in here is usually all encompassing, makes him shiver all over until he has to get under the sheet to try and get warm, but today it's welcoming.
The last thing he needs to be doing is breaking out into a sweat in the middle of the dining room, not when there's an investigation taking place, when Tony's rounding up the officers to prime everyone for any and all information.
"Your bedtime already, Brady?"
Brendan sighs, had hoped that he wouldn't be dealing with this again, not in here. He'd tried to mark the room out as his and Steven's, tried to make it something other than a cell, had lived under the illusion for a few days that it wasn't just somewhere that people could wander in and out of, invading his privacy.
"I thought vampires had to wait to be invited before coming in."
Walker laughs, bares his teeth and Jesus, this man truly is a vampire, the closest thing Brendan's ever known to one. He looks delighted, seems to revel in the things that people would be offended by, is acting like Brendan's just sung him happy birthday instead of insulting him.
"I thought you were keeping away for the week?"
A week doesn't seem long enough. A lifetime might just cut it.
"I said I'd stay away from him, not from you. Unless you're not going to play nice and tell me to go and wank myself off again?" Walker questions, eyebrows raised in amusement.
"Give me ten minutes, I might just summon up the energy."
He feels suddenly alert though, has propped himself up on the bed, is aware that Steven could walk in at any moment, that he's not sure if Walker could stick to the week long break if he saw the boy. Sex seems to suit Steven, looks more golden and delicious than ever, took all of Brendan's restraint not to spread his body onto one of the tables at breakfast and mount him.
"Funny thing happened."
"Oh yeah?" He steels himself for another martial arts tale, perhaps involving Walker fly kicking someone to death. Hilarious.
"Mmmm. Fascinating really. Turns out Warren's in hospital."
Brendan smiles at Walker, wants to unnerve him, turn on the charm. Walker's kryptonite.
"Poor guy should watch where he's walking. You know these uneven floors, Simon. Guy can easily trip."
"His body was covered in bruises, Brendan."
"Looks like these floors are nastier than we thought, eh?"
Brendan moves off the bed, slings his shirt off and throws it in the corner, starts his morning press ups that he didn't get to complete because Steven's body had been that much more inviting, impossible to pass up.
It's the momentary distraction that Walker needs and he follows Brendan with his eyes, watches as his muscles contract and relax, his back moving down towards the floor and then up again, has mastered this art without having to pause.
He's wise to Brendan's games though, has known him too long to be blindsided by his attempts at seduction.
"How did you do it, then? Without him seeing you?"
Brendan pretends to concentrate on the exercise while his mind works furiously, has to be careful about this, can't let a single part of his guilt slip out and act as a noose around his neck.
"You automatically assume it's me, Simon? That stings."
"Don't play with me. There's only two people in this place who could have got the upper hand over Warren like that, and I was masturbating in my room while thinking of your young cellmate. Only leaves one suspect, doesn't it?"
Brendan tries not to rise to the comment about Steven, starts counting the press ups in his head, twenty and twenty one and twenty two and I'm going to going to fucking kill him and twenty four.
"You clearly made sure that Warren didn't see you. You're not an idiot. Hit him so hard you knocked him out with the first punch, did you?"
"Warren's a twisted guy. Wouldn't be surprised if he beat himself up just so he could have the chance of getting some morphine in his system."
"If Warren wants drugs there's plenty of people he could go to. There's no motive there."
Brendan scoffs, increases the pace of his press ups, muscles on fire. "Motive. What is this, a murder investigation?"
"You tell me. Were you planning on killing him?"
Brendan pulls himself up, chest heaving, walks over to Walker until they're an inch apart. Most men would step back until Brendan had them pressed against the wall, but Walker never backs down.
"I didn't touch him." He enunciates every word, jabs at Walker's chest with each syllable.
"Lucky for you, I'm not going to press it."
Brendan's curiosity is spiked, knows that Walker will never stop when he wants something, that he makes it his mission to know everything that's going on in this place.
"Why's that then?"
Walker purses his lips together, looks like he's sharing a private joke with himself.
"Now that Warren's in hospital, it means I have the whole cell to myself."
Brendan steps back, feels like the proximity's suddenly too close, feels like he's being laughed at and he hasn't got the faintest idea as to why.
"I know it must be a relief to watch porn in private now, Simon."
Walker laughs, claps his hands together like a seal.
"Thank you."
Two words have never been as uninviting.
"For what?" Brendan says, feels like he's going to regret asking.
"I was worrying about having Ste back to my cell with Fox there. Turns out you've just got rid of the problem."
Brendan feels a tick go off in his cheek, can't fucking control it, body goes twitchy as hell when he's like this, like he's trying to control every muscle just to stop himself from committing another murder. He tells himself he's not that man, he took no pleasure from what he did to Seamus, it was something he had to do, couldn't live and survive knowing he was walking the earth, free to poison the air like he'd been doing his whole life.
But fucking hell is he tempted to break his own moral code and make sure that Walker can't touch what's his. Knows it's irrational as fuck, that he hasn't even known Steven a month, but he is his. He knows the sounds the boy makes when he's asleep, knows how to make his pupils blown wide, lips parted, already feels like he's seen Steven at his best and worst, ready to tear the cell apart because of Amy, laughing and high as a kite as he comes down in Brendan's arms.
"The kid hasn't said yes yet."
"He will."
"You think if he wanted you he wouldn't have to wait a week."
"What's the matter, Brendan? Are you jealous?"
Brendan turns his head sharply, feels like Walker's just shined a light on him, exposed everything he's been trying to hide. He feels more naked now than he ever did when he was fucking him.
"Jealous? Of you and that little runt?"
"Does he remind you of anyone?"
Brendan stiffens, looks away, has never been the first to break eye contact with this man but he knows too much, is trying to dig up skeletons that aren't even in Brendan's closet, they're here, they've never left.
"Same age, same build. If you squint they could even be the same person."
"They're not," Brendan says, hates the shake in his voice. "They're not."
"Granted the boy's got spirit that Vinnie never had. I'm not used to someone speaking back to me. Wouldn't allow it if he wasn't so goddamn beautiful."
He's about to open his mouth and deny it, but can't say a damn thing. Denying he feels something for the boy comes easily for him, he's not even sure if he has feelings or whether they were buried in his bed when he was eight years old, but he can't say that Steven's not fucking perfect, not now he knows every inch of his body, skin like honeycomb, can't ever get enough of the taste or the smell of him, the way Steven's body fits against his, has never believed that people are born to be together but Steven's making him question everything.
"I'm going to fuck him. Want to watch?"
Brendan breaks out of his reverie, stares at Walker leaning casually against the wall, looks at Brendan like he's trying to work out a puzzle. Brendan's not easily shocked, but Walker's words are like the prison food that he can't easily digest, makes his stomach churn and leaves him feeling emptier than before.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Ste. When he signs the contract. Do you want to watch?"
Brendan feels sick that in this whole contract Steven seems to be a side note, the entertainment in something bigger, a game between Brendan and Walker that has no end.
"Get out."
Walker shifts off the wall, casual stance gone. He's like a predator when he becomes angry, circles his prey like he's waiting for the right time to pounce. Brendan tenses for a fight, adrenaline pumping round his body, fists clenched, is not afraid of getting blood on his hands, hasn't been for a long time.
Being in this place has made him virtually fearless. Death means nothing to him, thinks that Eileen and the kids would be better off without him, hasn't allowed any of them to come and visit him, hasn't seen them in years. He wants them to remember a version of him that wasn't so entirely degraded, that wasn't splashed on the front of newspapers. Even Cheryl isn't enough to keep him clinging onto life.
Walker knows this, doesn't rise to it like the way he would with the other men. He gets that dangerous look of amusement in his face that hides a multitude of plans and schemes, could be plotting an army of murders for all anyone knows, doesn't give a damn thing away, makes him one of the most feared men in this place. Psychiatrists have given him a range of diagnoses over the years. Antisocial personality disorder. Psychopathy.
Manipulative charming bastard is the one that Brendan would choose.
"Tell Ste I said hello."
"Will do," Brendan says, tosses the words in the trash immediately like they're a crumpled piece of paper.
When Walker's gone Brendan smashes his fist into the mirror, is found by Darren with blood pouring from his knuckles. He's taken to the upstairs wing, one of the nurses telling him "That must have hurt, Brendan."
"Not really."
What he really means is "No", but no one would understand that, no one would get that everything stopped truly hurting a long time ago.
Ste isn't allowed back into the cell, sees it cordoned off with officers around it, tries to force his way through the tape but he's held back by Darren.
His first thought is one of terror, has seen this kind of yellow tape on television, always seems to indicate some kind of murder, and he knows that in this place the odds are slashed, that it's not one in a million.
He can hear someone screaming, wants to tell them to stop, that it's too loud. Darren's telling him to calm down and he can't understand, it can't be him.
"Where's Brendan? What's happened - is he -" He can't form the words, doesn't even want to think them.
"Ste, stop struggling. I told you, you can't go back into the cell mate."
"Don't bloody call me mate!" He tries to get past again, knows it's futile but thinks that knowing's better than being kept in the dark like this. "Where's Brendan?" He repeats, longs to hear his footsteps coming up behind him, sound of him chewing gum in his ear, admonishing him.
"Jesus Steven, what are you getting your knickers in a twist for?"
News has spread round the whole prison as to what's happened with Warren, that he still hasn't woken up. Ste wonders if this is some kind of hate crime, if one of the men has targeted them, if it's some homophobe and Brendan's in as bad a state as Warren.
"Ste, Brendan's fine. He's in the hospital department, but -"
"The hospital department?" He explodes. "That doesn't sound fine to me!"
"It's not as serious as it sounds."
The words Brendan and hospital are making Ste feel anything but relaxed.
"What happened?"
"I can't tell you that," Darren says uncomfortably.
Ste makes another attempt to lunge out of his hold, is contained with Darren's hands around him firmly.
"Ste! It's confidential, it's nothing to do with you."
"Nothing to do with me?" He's spitting now, is sure that he must look unattractive but he doesn't give a shit. "Brendan is to do with me. You know we're..." he lowers his voice, moves closer to Darren. "You know we're together. Please, he'd want me to know."
Ste is sure he'd get a slap around the face with any other guard, but he's seen the hold that Brendan's got over Darren, knows that it must be strong for him to have convinced him to close the screen window, could have resulted in Brendan killing him for all he knows, Darren being sent to prison himself.
"He...he punched his hand through a mirror."
Ste's not sure whether to feel relieved, is intensely grateful that the damage was self inflicted in a sense, that no one hurt Brendan, that he's not hooked up to a hospital bed with drips and tubes, but wants to get his hands on him right now and tell him how fucking stupid he is.
"Why?"
"I don't know, I'm not a mind reader am I? I'm not sure how Brady thinks. Look Ste, I'm saying this because you're new to the place, and you're young - Brendan's not a guy you want to get involved with."
Ste rolls his eyes, is sick to death of hearing this same spiel, feels like everywhere he goes in this place he's being warned off, everyone around him thinking he's too naive to know what he wants.
"How long is he going to be in hospital?"
"Ste -"
"How long?"
"I'm not sure, we're just getting rid of the glass, I haven't spoken to anyone upstairs yet."
"Then you're no use to me."
He releases himself from Darren's grip, the cell no longer holding his attention, not now he knows that Brendan's not there, that all he's going to see is fragments of a broken mirror. He'd imagined blood on the floors, conjured up something that neither of them could come back from, had never envisioned that Brendan would be the one to hurt himself.
Ste doesn't fool himself that he alone is capable of making Brendan happy, isn't under the illusion that he can make him forget that he's here on a life sentence. But he thought Brendan at least liked being with him, can't fathom why he'd deliberately harm himself when Ste needs him around, needs him safe.
There's something in the air today, something almost like hope, and it's easy to identify it as Ste walks the halls, as he goes back to the dining room to find Doug and Ethan. People around him are talking animately, people who Ste's never usually seen mixing together. Some are speaking in hushed whispers as if they're afraid of saying it out loud, "Warren Fox was attacked". Ste had underestimated just how much people had feared and hated him, how now that he's in the hospital there's a sense of freedom amongst the men, that the heavy atmosphere that's always existed has lifted.
Their reaction doesn't prepare him for Ethan's. It doesn't take long for Ste to find him, feels like he identifies him by the sound of the heaving sobs racketing out of him. Ste's never seen a man cry like that, face a beetroot red from emotion, Doug's jumper looking like it's been soaked in the rain from Ethan's face resting against it.
He's not sure whether the tears are from fear or relief at first, wonders whether he should be there at all when he feels like he's trespassing, when Doug doesn't even nod in acknowledgement, just stares at Ste once and then continues to hold Ethan, rocking him ever so slightly.
None of the other men are even paying attention to this display, combination of their begrudging respect for Ethan from his connection with Warren and their own happiness and preoccupation with one of the prison elite almost being put six feet under.
Ste perches on the edge of the table, doesn't know what to say that won't sound insensitive or inadequate.
He settles for a mumbled, "Hi", thinks how pathetic it sounds after everything that's happened.
Ethan looks up at him then, seems to notice his presence for the first time. He brushes his eyes and Ste wants to tell him to stop, that he doesn't have to pull himself together on his account, that he's not going to think any less of him.
"Where have you been? Have you heard the news?"
"Yeah, I've heard." Ste assesses his reaction, isn't sure whether to celebrate that Ethan's momentarily free, or whether there's a single part of him that feels upset about what happened to Warren.
"Sorry about...this." Ethan gestures to his tear stained face and Ste can imagine the policeman in him then, can see how alien this is for him, being the one who's vulnerable.
"Don't worry about it. After what you've been through..."
He doesn't want to say the word, doesn't want to sound out the four letters. He feels like it's infected so much of his life already, can't get it out of his head how different things could have been for Brendan if he'd had a different family, a different father.
"Do you know who did this, Ste?"
"Hurt Warren?" He tries to avoid Doug's eyes, can feel them on him. "No, why would I?"
"There's only two people who could have done this, and you're close to both of them."
He can't help glancing at Doug then, feels like his covers been blown and Ethan knows about Brendan, knows the grief he's bound to get and the further judgements that'll be passed.
"I mean one's your cellmate, and the other one's trying to get into your pants."
Ste tries to disguise his deep exhalation. "What makes you think it's definitely them?"
"No one else would have the guts."
"Sorry, I don't know who did it." Not a complete lie then. Strictly speaking he doesn't, he doesn't know a damn thing that's cold hard fact.
"Well if you find out, tell them to watch their back."
Ste wonders if Ethan's joking, laughs it off like it's merely prison slang that amounts to nothing, but they look at him sharply, feels like he's already failed at not being insensitive in the space of five minutes.
"I'm serious, Ste," Ethan continues. "One day Warren's going to get out, and he's not going to let this slide. He won't stop until he kills whoever did this."
"Kills?" Ste squeaks, knows the reality of his situation, isn't lost on him that he's in a fucking prison, but it's still surreal to hear these terms bandied about and for people to actually mean them. He doesn't know how he's meant to go back to Amy telling him she'll kill him if he hasn't hoovered by the time she returns from work.
"I'll...I'll let you know if I find out anything, yeah?" He tries to give a reassuring smile, feels like his lips are stuck together.
He turns to leave, feels like an outsider in this group that he's tried to create, should of known that he doesn't have friends, never has, that everything he touches seems to turn rotten.
"Ste? If you find whoever did it...Tell them thanks a fucking lot and I owe them a pint if we ever get out of this place, yeah?" Ethan cracks a grin, the kind of natural smile that Ste hasn't ever seen on him, knows what freedom looks like now.
"Yeah." He finds he returns it, for Ethan's sake if nothing else. "Sure."
He wants to say so much more, that however wrong the hit and run was, Ethan didn't deserve this. That he wishes things could have been better for him, wants to tell Doug that he's only doing what he is, that he's sticking by someone who had their dignity and autonomy taken away from him. That sometimes it's not as clear cut as a criminal being a monster, and he's only just starting to realise that.
He wants to say a lot of things, but he's never been good with words, so he says nothing.
Brendan fucking hates hospitals. He hates the white washed walls, the waiting rooms which always seem to be a breeding ground for depression, hates the way everything seems so damn fragile here.
This isn't like the one he used to go to when he was a kid, is less than half the size, just a wing with a few nurses. Warren's been transferred to a hospital down the road, but for any minor wounds the men are sent to this place.
His hand's wrecked but the bleedings stopped now, a stain of blood on his clothes from when he was too late to mop it up with paper towels.
Seamus used to accompany him to appointments. Brendan would get blackouts as a kid. Some of the nurses at school referred to them as migraines but it was more intense than that, would take over his whole body, such severe pain that he couldn't even walk. Then came the stomach aches, had him leaning over the toilet even when nothing came up. Seamus called him a "weak child", said that Brendan was exaggerating his symptoms, that he was always getting sick, and "why can't you be more strong, more like a real man Brenda?"
When he had stayed off from school for the forth consecutive day running with a stomach ache, Cheryl's mother had told him that he was going to the doctor. He'd seen Seamus waiting at the door with the car running outside, asked Cheryl's mum if she could take him, but she'd insisted she was busy, that Brendan was lucky to be offered a lift, that he should thank his father.
After hours of waiting he'd been prodded and poked by a doctor, had done a series of tests and been asked questions, none of which truly meant anything to him, were just a handful of yes or no answers that he spoke nervously, knowing that Seamus was next to him the whole time.
The hospital couldn't find anything wrong with him, said that it was in all likelihood a nervous stomach, that he was perfectly healthy.
When the doctor asked if they had anymore questions, Brendan wondered for one second what it would be like if he walked up to her and told her that the night before his dad had raped him, that he'd been raping him for four years now, and he no longer wished to wake up in the morning, prayed that he'd be taken somewhere else in his sleep, that he'd be run over on his way to school.
Seamus had shaken his head, said "No thanks, doctor", and guided Brendan out.
"Brendan?" A hand's shaking him, feels like it's far away. They repeat his name, and for a moment he thinks it's him, that his dad's somehow here, that Brendan must have made a mistake and not hit him hard enough, that he's alive.
But it's not the right accent, not even close. Not the right face. Not the same man.
It's one of the officers, says that he's allowed back downstairs now, that his room's been cleared. He's got a meeting with Tony in the afternoon but until then he has to stay in his cell with close supervision. These people have been around him long enough to know that he's not a self harm or suicide risk, that he didn't punch the mirror because he wanted to hurt himself.
They're worried that he's going to damage something - property. They're more concerned with what he does to one of their fucking desks.
As he walks back to his cell he sees the mens eyes on him. He passes the games room, door wide open, some of the prisoners playing pool. They nod their heads to him, give him a tentative smile, even catches one giving a salute.
"You're popular today, Brady," the escorting officer says, air of suspicion unmistakably present. They're fucking on to him, aren't stupid, knows that there aren't a lot of people in this place who would have the nerve to take on Warren. He's suspect number one.
"What can I say? I'm a people person."
The glass has been swept away when he gets back to the cell, a hole where the mirror used to be. It was a tiny one, could just about make out your face in it, but it's enough for Brendan to shave in to stop a full beard from growing. Looks like he's going to have to make do without until they find a replacement.
He's not sure what he expects to find when he returns, imagines that all of Steven's belongings have gone, that the boy's requested a transfer away from him, that he's finally decided to be smart and give him a wide birth.
Instead he feels like he's come back to a disgruntled wife, is late for dinner and has been out all day while he has responsibilities, feels like he should be shouting out "honey I'm home."
Steven's sitting on the bed, looks pissed as hell. Brendan can all but see the steam coming out of his ears.
"Brady's on lockdown, son," the officer tells him. "Now's your chance to get out."
Brendan wants him to leave, knows what's to come and wants to spare himself the hassle, doesn't need a lecture when his hand still hurts like hell.
"I'll stay, thanks."
The officer looks at Steven like he's crazy, might well be to choose to be voluntarily locked in with him. The thing that Brendan's wanted since this morning suddenly doesn't seem so appealing, feels stifling.
The second the door closes Steven springs into life, looks like a man possessed, may be small but is louder than anyone Brendan knows when he wants to be. Not many men could reduce his voice to nothing, make him stumble over his words when he tries to speak.
"What the hell are you playing at?"
"I know you were fond of that mirror, but life moves on."
"Don't you fucking joke with me, Brendan."
Brendan drops the act, knows it's not going to wash here.
"You've just dug yourself a grave, you know." The boy looks panicked, full of actual concern for him alongside the anger, and Brendan's not used to it, doesn't know what to do with it. "I've heard what happened to Warren."
"Looks like he had a nasty accident."
"An accident? How stupid do you think I am?"
Brendan notices how his accent gets more pronounced when he's like this, can just imagine him on the estate when he was growing up, feels a strange protectiveness over that kid that he never even knew.
"Okay, so someone beat him up."
"Not someone. You."
Brendan arranges his features into something that looks appalled, has had a lifetime of practice at faking innocence.
"Me? Jesus Steven, do you...you really think that I had something to do with it?"
He hadn't bargained on Steven being so wise to bullshit.
"Bit of a coincidence, isn't it? I tell you that we need to do something about Warren, and the next day he gets taken to hospital."
"Miracles happen everyday, Steven. Have a little faith."
The boy's laughing bitterly now, pacing the cell and looking like he wants to climb the walls in frustration.
"Just tell me the truth."
"I swear, Steven. I didn't do anything to Warren. It wasn't me."
"Stop lying!" He shouts it and Brendan realises then how important this is to him, needs him to be honest, won't accept lies as easily as Cheryl always has.
"I'm not." It doesn't come out as confident as before.
"You said you swear, yeah?"
"Yeah. I give you my word."
"You swear on your kids lives, then? Can you honestly say that you didn't beat him up?"
Fuck. Steven knows his Achilles heel, knows that the one thing he can't do is lie, not on his kids lives, isn't exactly a superstitious man but he can't do that.
He hesitates, and Steven catches on, jumps on it.
"Oh my God."
Brendan moves towards him then, wants to beg the boy like he's rarely begged for anything before, can't stand the thought that Steven won't look at him the same way he used to.
"What was I supposed to do? You told me we had to do something." He tries to touch Steven but the boy shakes him off.
"Yeah, we. You and me, not you! And not this."
"I wasn't going to let you get involved with him." He says it as if it's obvious, seems crystal clear to him, doesn't know how Steven doesn't recognise that. He couldn't let the boy anywhere near Warren, couldn't take that risk of something happening.
Steven shakes his head, stubborn as fuck but beautifully so, Brendan can't take his damn eyes off him even when he's screwed up, even when Steven's looking at him as though he could be a stranger.
"I didn't mean...I didn't want him to get hurt."
It's Brendan's turn to laugh, can't think of a single thing that's funny here but he can't believe the absurdity of the boy, that in his world he thinks there's any other way of getting rid of a problem.
"What would you have had me do, eh? Talk to him nicely? Make him a cup of tea, try and iron things out?"
"I don't know, I just...you didn't have to hurt him that badly."
The blame has shifted now, it's not that Brendan's hurt him, it's that Brendan's hurt him too much. He can see Steven trying to make excuses for him in his mind, trying to conjure up some way that this is forgivable.
"I had to get him out of the way for a while. Give Ethan a chance."
He doesn't even care about the lad, imagines Ethan would have been one of the people who would have arrested Brendan in a second before he came here, would have sniffed around and tried to get him for drugs possession, GBH, anything. He'd never agreed with what Warren did, no one could, fucking barbaric, but he wasn't Superman, it wasn't his job to keep everyone safe.
But it had mattered to Steven, had actually meant something to the boy, and Brendan hadn't been able to get it out of his head that night, images of Ethan merging into one of himself, and he thought about what the boy had said about someone being there to save him. Suddenly it had felt like maybe he could save himself, that eight year old who felt like he was still living inside Brendan, scared and helpless and alone, and he could help him.
Once he'd started hitting Warren he hadn't been able to stop, not until he realised that if he kept going, he would kill him.
"Did he see you?"
Brendan shakes his head, had knocked out Warren with one punch.
"That's why you smashed the mirror, isn't it? To hide what you did to your hand. So people would think it was from the injury instead of what you did to him."
Yes. And also because someone wants to take you away from me, and I can't let that happen.
"Brendan, I don't know about any of this..."
He's giving up on me.
"No, please." It's not a word that comes easily to him. "I did it for you. I'm not..."
I'm not a monster.
"Doug...Doug told me that you got moved to another floor when you attacked a guard."
The change of subject disarms Brendan, usually manages to use his notoriety to his advantage, but now it's coming back to kick him in the arse, suddenly doesn't want to be that man.
"It's not what it sounds like."
"Let me guess - another nasty fall?"
Brendan stares down at the floor, hates talking about this so much that he feels uncomfortable in his own skin right now, wants to rip it off.
"He...he called me a name."
He knows how it sounds, echos between them pathetically. He's going to have to say it, is the only way Steven might understand.
"Brenda."
He sees the lack of comprehension on Steven's face.
"It's what my dad used to call me."
"Oh. Right."
"I know it was stupid. I just...I couldn't...stop," he finishes lamely.
"You couldn't stop hurting him?" Steven says softly, sounds like he's actually trying to help here.
Brendan hums in acknowledgment.
"Brendan, if this is another story -"
"It's not, I promise. I regret what happened. But...I'm not a...I'm trying to be a better man. If that's possible."
He's not so sure it is anymore.
"I'm not sure I can be with someone like that. I lived for most of my life with a man who did those kind of things."
"I'm not like your step dad." It comes out in a rush, he needs Steven to hear the truth in it, doesn't usually give a damn what people think of him, but he cares now, hopes he's not too late, because he doesn't know what he'll do.
"Just because you wouldn't hurt me, it doesn't mean that you can hurt everyone else."
He's only just starting to get that, that Steven has morals and integrity, the last thing Brendan ever expected to find in here.
"I'm..." He stumbles over the words, looks at Steven for him to fill in the blanks, wills him with his eyes to understand what he's trying to say.
"Sorry?"
He nods, tries to communicate with the boy that this time he's not lying.
"I understand if you don't want to...you'd be safer with Walker." It's the first time he realises the truth of it, that even if Walker discards him like a toy he could still keep him safer, temper more firmly in check, Brendan weighed down by so much baggage that it physically aches sometimes.
"I should probably run a mile."
"Yeah."
"Amy would kill me if she knew I was doing this."
"Probably literally."
Steven steps towards him, mixture of boldness and coyness on his face, and this could go either way, could be the end or Brendan could be given another lifeline. That's what it feels like, a lifeline, like he's being given a second chance at something.
Steven reaches out, takes Brendan's bloodied hand in his palm, strokes the knuckles for a while while Brendan winches slightly, then leans forward and kisses it, as tenderly as if he were a child.
"I'm going to tell Walker tomorrow."
"What?" Brendan's dazed, can still feel the warm touch of Steven's lips against his hand, feels like it's tingling.
"It's not fair to keep leading him on like this, thinking that something's going to happen."
"What exactly are you going to tell him?" He needs to be sure.
A flicker of a smile crosses Steven's face, and Brendan can't believe that after all he's revealed he's still here, lockdown or no lockdown, that he's not banging on the door demanding for his release.
"That I'm with someone."
It sounds strangely permanent, the closest he's come to having someone for years, perhaps ever, because this time there's no pretending. He doesn't want to say no.
"If you'll still have me," Steven teases.
Of course I'll still have you, you gorgeous, mad idiot.
He kisses him instead, feels easier than words, always has. Brendan uses his weight to spin the boy, turning him until he's on his bed, lowers him down onto the sheet. Steven's not asking him who's looking this time, knows that they're exposed with the screen window still open but his hands roam between the strands of Brendan's hair, doesn't even hesitate.
Steven's hand goes to Brendan's buckle, roughly undoes it while leaning close, whispers in his ear, "I'm going to ride you, yeah?", speaks it as freely as if they were discussing the weather, the boy hasn't got an ounce of shame left and it's startling, dazzling.
Brendan lies back on the pillow, watches Steven on top of him grinning like a Cheshire cat, his own brain fogged by arousal and one thought.
He's still here.